


Soggy Bottoms

by irrationalgame



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Feeding, Food Kink, Food Porn, Glove Kink, M/M, PWP, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, Smut, paunch appreciation?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:40:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27674146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irrationalgame/pseuds/irrationalgame
Summary: It started with a plate of chocolate eclairs.In which Thomas eats cakes and Jimmy wishes it were him.
Relationships: Thomas Barrow/Jimmy Kent
Comments: 12
Kudos: 65





	Soggy Bottoms

**Author's Note:**

  * For [toastandjammies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/toastandjammies/gifts), [hi_im_eff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hi_im_eff/gifts).



> The title is a bad Great British Bake-off reference and I’m so sorry.
> 
> Um check the tags because this is what it is. It started as PWP but then feelings happened.
> 
> Unbeta’d
> 
> Thanks to Emarie for making me aware that Manchester tarts are a thing! I couldn’t resist including them in this.
> 
> For hi_I’m_eff and toastandjammies because I love you guys so much!

It started with a plate of chocolate eclairs, which were originally destined for upstairs but, having been slightly squashed and now not considered perfect enough to grace their table, instead landed on the servant’s hall table after tea, free to any takers.

The servant’s hall was empty save for Mr Barrow and Jimmy, who was smoking one of Thomas’s cigarettes and losing a game of patience to himself, when Mrs Patmore plopped the eclairs down between him and Thomas. The under-butler immediately looked up from his book and his eyes lit up on spying the pastries.

“Help yourself Mr Barrow,” Patmore said, and returned to the kitchens; the words had barely left her mouth before Thomas had his wrapped around an eclair.

Jimmy smirked at the look of bliss on Thomas’s face - he couldn’t help it, the man seemed about to come undone over baked goods. His grin faded when Thomas’s pink tongue darted out to lick a smear of cream from his upper lip - Jimmy had to shift in his seat and cross his legs against the wave of arousal that washed over him.

Thomas shoved the rest of the only-really-phallic-if-you’re-desperate eclair into his mouth and moaned with pleasure. He actually bloody _moaned_ and, like that, Jimmy was hard, his heart beating so violently he could hear it pounding in his ears.

“Are they good, Mr Barrow?” Jimmy managed, his cheeks hot.

Thomas nodded and sucked a blob of cream from his index finger. Jimmy’s hips jerked forwards involuntarily, his knees banging against the underside of the table.

“It’s a good job Mrs Patmore doesn’t make stuff like this for us, I’d end up the size of a house,” Thomas said, eyeing the plate. “You should try them.”

Jimmy shook his head, “I’m still full from supper and I snuck a couple of petit fours earlier too.” He paused, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, his cock pressing against the seam of his trousers, then said; “You should have another one before the hall boys and maids descend on them.”

Thomas considered it for barely a moment before he lost the battle with his self-control and picked up another eclair. It must have split open when it was manhandled as there was cream oozing out of the side. Thomas lapped at the mess and Jimmy had to clench his jaw against the moan that threatened to escape him. Then Thomas stretched his sinful red lips around the pastry and Jimmy slipped a hand under the table to press against his straining member.

“Enjoying that?” Jimmy managed to grind out.

Thomas made a sort of mumbling moan in the affirmative and pushed the rest of the eclair into his mouth - Jimmy palmed his erection and was treated to the mental image of his cock being sucked into Thomas’s mouth. He nearly choked on his cigarette.

Thomas ran his tongue around his lips, chasing down any last remnants of cream and sighed. He looked longingly at the half-full plate.

Jimmy was shaking from the effort of pretending he wasn’t having a sexual awakening in the servant’s hall. He lifted the cig to his lips with a trembling hand and said; “Another, Mr Barrow?”

“I shouldn’t,” Thomas replied, “I won’t be able to do up my waistcoat. I don’t want to bend over at dinner and have a button ping off into the Dowagers wine glass.”

Jimmy felt his face redden as he imagined the little softness around Thomas’s middle bursting out of his shirt and sending buttons flying across the room.

“It’s not like we get to eat them often,” Jimmy said, his voice rougher than he’d have liked, “treat yourself. Be a bit _naughty_ for once.”

Thomas gave him a sort of funny look, like he was trying to figure out a particularly taxing maths problem. But the plate of eclairs soon redrew his attention and he reached out and took one more.

“I do deserve a treat,” he said, “I’ve been a _good boy_.” And he held Jimmy’s gaze as he slid the eclair right into his mouth until the thing must’ve been hitting the back of his throat.

Jimmy gave a low moan and came against his hand, soiling the inside of his trousers and crushing the dog-end of his mostly-unsmoked cig between his fingers.

“I enjoyed that,” Thomas said, wiping his mouth with a handkerchief, “did you?” He knowingly handed the handkerchief to Jimmy and the footman scrambled out of his chair and _ran_.

* * *

Thomas didn’t mention the eclair debacle to Jimmy but he kept smirking at him like he knew some great secret. Jimmy managed to convince himself it was an aberration - a slip, somehow caused by the combination of feeling ruttish and the eclairs and - well, he couldn’t really explain it more than that so he just sealed it into a neat box in the back of his mind and tried not to think about it at all.

Which, of course, was useless. Every time Thomas put something in his mouth Jimmy felt his prick twitch in interest. And Thomas often had something in his mouth; a fork, a biscuit, at least a dozen cigarettes a day.

Even harder to explain away was why he always wrapped Thomas’s handkerchief around his hand when brought himself off thinking about Thomas’s red, wet mouth.

* * *

The next incident occurred two weeks later; the family had been picnicking with the children and had sent back baskets of leftovers which had, of course, been recycled into the servants supper. There were all manner of dangerous things on offer: jam tarts, custard slices, cream horns, and the ubiquitous scones slathered with jam and clotted cream.

Of course, Thomas made a beeline for the scones and piled four onto his plate.

Jimmy couldn’t help but say; “I thought a cream horn would be more your style.”

Thomas narrowed his eyes and plonked an overflowing and slightly crushed horn onto his plate. If anyone had ever been able to say _‘challenge accepted’_ with just a look, it was Thomas.

Jimmy’s normal seat had been filled by Alfred’s gangly frame, so he took the one next to Thomas, as he usually would if given the opportunity. Jimmy had piled his own plate with treats - choux religieuse overflowing with cream, a slab of cake and, just so there was something savoury, a insignificantly small slice of quiche.

“What’s that?” Thomas said, pointing to the choux religieuse. “I didn’t see them.” He’d already made two scones magically disappear.

“Religieuse,” Jimmy replied, “they’re delicious. D’ya want to try one?”

Thomas nodded, “If you don’t mind?”

Jimmy plucked off the top tier of the religieuse and held it up for Thomas - he made to take it but Jimmy shook his head and lifted it higher, until it was hovering in front of Thomas’s slightly-parted lips.

Thomas gave a quick glance up and down the table - Mrs Hughes was regaling them all with a story and everyone’s attention was centred on her - no one was even looking at Thomas and Jimmy’s end of the table. Then he leant forwards and took the whole choux bun into his mouth, his lips pressing against Jimmy’s fingers.

“Yes, that’s it Mr Barrow,” Jimmy whispered, his heart quick-stepping in his chest, “eat up.”

Thomas refused to look away as he chewed - his tongue darted out and lapped at Jimmy’s finger, then he raised one eyebrow. “Very nice.”

Jimmy felt all the blood in his body rush directly to his cock.

“Do I get any more?” Thomas asked, his eyes burning into Jimmy’s.

Jimmy swallowed thickly and nodded, picking up the cream-covered bottom of the religieuse and holding it to Thomas’s mouth. It was too big to take in one go so Thomas was forced to bite into it like an apple, and ended up with cream dripping down his chin. Jimmy’s hand shot forwards and he scooped the mess from Thomas’s face and to his already-open mouth - Thomas sucked Jimmy’s finger in and grazed it with his teeth.

Jimmy couldn’t help but moan at the sensation. He offered up the last of the choux pastry treat, which Thomas gladly accepted.

They started at each other for a long moment until Thomas finally said; “Do you want some of my cream horn?” And held it up suggestively.

Jimmy shook his head, rendered dumb.

“More for me then.”

Thomas spent a full minute licking the cream out of the end of the pastry before inserting the end into his mouth and sucking it as lewdly as possible.

“Oh _god_ ,” Jimmy moaned and squirmed in his seat. Thomas was hard too, the outline of his cock visible through the thin material of his trousers, and without thinking Jimmy reached over and cupped his groin.

“Jimmy,” Thomas breathed, his eyes flicking away to the other staff then back to Jimmy’s hand on his erection, “not _here_.”

Jimmy nodded and removed his hand.

“Mr Carson,” Thomas said suddenly, “might we be excused? Jimmy and I would like some air. It seems we’ve had too many cakes.”

Carson frowned the way he always did, as if Thomas and Jimmy’s very existence disgusted him, but waved them off. They escaped outside - luckily no one cared enough to notice how undone they both were.

As soon as they were out of sight Jimmy pushed Thomas up against the wall and kissed him fiercely, tasting cream and sugar on his lips and tongue. Thomas moaned, his cock jutting up into Jimmy’s thigh, and Jimmy couldn’t stop his hips from jerking forward to meet it.

“Jesus Jimmy,” Thomas said between kisses, “didn’t know you liked Patmore’s cooking _that_ much.”

“Don’t - ah - talk about Mrs - uhh - Patmore now,” Jimmy ground out, “an’ it’s you and your bloody _mouth_ what’s doin’ it.”

“Ah, you like my mouth do ya?”

“Yes.”

“Want to fuck it?”

“God yes.”

Thomas turned them around so Jimmy’s back was to the wall and sank down to his knees, his hands already working Jimmy’s buttons undone.

“Thomas, ah,” Jimmy said as Thomas liberated his erection from his undergarments and unabashedly grinned at it before taking the length into his mouth.

Jimmy’s hips took on a life of their own and bounced off the wall - only Thomas’s firm grip pushing back stopped Jimmy from thrusting into the under-butler’s wet mouth.

It was _obscene_ \- Jimmy had never known a feeling like it and he cursed himself for not taking up with Thomas sooner.

Thomas drew back enough to drawl “Good, yeah?”

Jimmy couldn’t have said a coherent sentence if his life depended on it, so he settled for a series of whiny, needy noises and a vigorous nod to convey his meaning.

Thomas smiled smugly at Jimmy’s state and wrapped his lips back around Jimmy’s almost painfully-hard cock, sucking and licking until Jimmy could feel his orgasm building like a great wave towering over him, a tiny speck on a beach, and threatened to wash him away.

“Thomas, I - god - fuck - I - you should - ah,” he said between gasps, trying to warn the under-butler, but it was too little too late - the wave broke and crashed over him and he came, shooting his seed into the back of Thomas’s throat, which in itself was so erotic he could have cried.

Thomas held Jimmy through it, swallowing Jimmy’s load, licking his over-sensitive cock clean like it was one of Patmore’s pastries. Once Jimmy could breathe a little more evenly and take his own weight on his shaking legs, he pulled Thomas to his feet and kissed him soundly, tasting his own release on Thomas’s tongue; bitter and slightly acrid but not entirely unpleasant.

Thomas wasn’t in much of a better state; his pupils had practically eclipsed his irises, blown open with lust, and his lips were wine-red and bruised. Jimmy could feel his erection against his hip as they kissed sloppily and he tried not to think about what it would mean if he returned the favour. It was one thing to accept an act from the more-than-willing Mr Barrow, it was a whole different kettle of fish to do it in return.

But Jimmy _wanted_ to. He wanted to make Thomas feel the way he did now - boneless and sated and satisfied. He didn’t think he could manage to do what Thomas had done to him though, even if the thought of it made his own cock twitch in interest, so he settled for snaking a hand down the inside of Thomas’s trousers and taking an awkward hold of his thick member.

Thomas gasped and clutched Jimmy’s rumpled shirt, his hips jerking forwards. Jimmy leaned against the wall and turned Thomas in his arms so the under-butler was backed up against him, his head resting in the crook of his neck. The position made it easier to work Thomas’s erection - Jimmy held it like he would his own, his fist tight around the head, and started a slow rhythm.

“This is how I do it to myself,” Jimmy whispered into Thomas’s ear, “just so you know.”

Thomas moaned and Jimmy felt it through his chest, so close were they pressed together. “Jesus Jimmy,” he ground out, his hands reaching back to brace himself, “I won’t last of you say things like that.”

“Like how I touch myself thinking of your mouth?” Jimmy smirked and Thomas’s thrust into the circle of his fist. “Like how I use your handkerchief when I do it? Like how I want to feel what it’s like if you bring me off with your left hand, with the leather of your glove against my cock?”

That was the one that pushed Thomas over the edge, his seed spurting out over Jimmy’s hand and ruining the inside of Thomas’s trousers.

Jimmy thought it would be awkward after but, as they leant side-by-side and smoked Thomas’s cigarettes, it felt _normal_.

“Feel a bit sick if I’m honest,” Thomas smirked, “all that cream and then all your _cream_. It’s not settling well.”

Jimmy coughed on his cigarette smoke. “Bloody hell, must you say things like that?” Then; “Are you - I mean was that? I didn’t hurt you?”

“God no,” Thomas said and a wicked grin split his face, “I liked that. A lot. Could be convinced to do it again.”

“Like it would take any convincing at all.”

“I have standards.”

“Not very high ones.”

Thomas cast an eye over Jimmy. “Clearly not.”

Jimmy thumped him on the arm. “You loved it.”

Thomas looked away, smoke curling between them and up towards the night sky, “I did.”

And it was that easy, for a while. They were Thomas and Jimmy, sarcastic and awful and always together, just as they had been before. But now, whenever they had the chance, they kissed and they groped and Jimmy came more times in a month than he had in his entire life.

* * *

One night they were lying together in Thomas’s too-narrow cot, Thomas’s weight a welcome pressure on Jimmy’s straining member, when Thomas said; “Darling, let me make love to you,” so adoringly it made Jimmy’s heart stutter and stop for a moment before pounding back into life.

Jimmy wasn’t too proud to admit he may have panicked. A little. He pushed Thomas away, his heart in a vice, and the under-butler fell off the cot entirely, landing on the rug with a soft _oof_.

Jimmy leapt out of bed and started wriggling back into his pyjamas.

“What’s the matter?” Thomas said, dragging himself up off the floor.

“We’re not - I’m not like that - I - ah, you shouldn’t say things like that!” he spluttered hotly.

Thomas frowned. “Like what?”

“Like _love_ an’ all that soppiness,” Jimmy hissed, buttoning up his pyjamas so quickly he hadn’t noticed the top was inside out. “I’m not a bloody girl - I’m not some poncing lavender fop, right?”

For a split second Thomas’s face was raw, the hurt palpable, before he schooled his expression into awful blankness.

“So it was what?” Thomas said, emotionless, “A bit of fun? A phase? An experiment?”

“It was,” Jimmy spat, _beautiful, perfect, everything, love,_ “nothing.”

Thomas swallowed thickly. “Get out Jimmy. Bloody get out before I throw you out.”

Jimmy marched back to his room, closed the door, slid down against it and cried.

* * *

After that Thomas wouldn’t even look at Jimmy - he left the table when Jimmy sat down, he exited rooms when Jimmy entered them, and he never spoke to Jimmy at all unless absolutely necessary. And when he did it was all “James” and “If it pleases _you_ ” and hard edges.

Jimmy felt bereft. And not just because he’d gotten used to the feeling of Thomas’s lips against his or the way they rutted against each other like wild beasts or how Thomas looked up at him through his lashes when he had Jimmy’s cock in his mouth.

He missed the way they’d lie together after in a tangle and share a cig, passing it back and forth between their lips, the taste of Thomas clinging to the tip. He longed for how they used to stand off to one side and snipe at Alfred. Or how they’d hang around the kitchen stealing food until Mrs Patmore chased them away with her wooden spoon. He missed his friend. He missed his Thomas.

He took to hanging around the kitchens alone so he’d have someone to talk to - even if it was just Ivy and Daisy, who were a very poor replacement for Mr Barrow. Jimmy must have let the misery show on his face once too often because Ivy was prompted to ask; “You’ve been awfully glum recently Jimmy. I wish you’d say why.”

Jimmy imagined the look on her face if he’d told her he missed having his cock roughly pumped by Thomas’s gloved hand. It would almost be worth the sacking to see it.

“Nothin’,” he said simply, the same lie that had caused his misery now covering it.

Mrs Patmore stopped piping icing onto the little viennese whirls she was working on and fixed Jimmy with a scathing glare. “You’re a bad liar y’know, and a worse friend if you’re goin’ to let things stay the way they are. Don’t he deserve a bit better from you now?”

Jimmy paled, then realising there was no point lying to the oddly perceptive cook he said; “What if it’s so broken it can’t be fixed?”

Mrs Patmore gave him a sympathetic sort of smile. “Lad, there ain’t much in this life that can’t be fixed if you try hard enough.”

She took four of the viennese whirls and wrapped them in brown paper before handing them to Jimmy. Jimmy gave her a questioning frown.

Mrs Patmore leaned in and whispered; “He’s always stealin’ treats when he thinks I’m not lookin’. I’d say the way to his heart’s through his stomach.”

Jimmy nodded tightly, equal parts embarrassed and touched, and made his escape to the servant’s hall. The man in question was sitting at the table smoking and scowling down at a newspaper. His eyes flicked up almost imperceptibly towards Jimmy when he entered, then straight back down to the paper. Jimmy paused, his heart rabbiting, before walking over and wordlessly placing the brown-paper bundle at the under-butler’s elbow.

Then he scarpered.

The next time he passed through the servant’s hall Thomas was gone, but the brown-paper parcel remained - except now it was an empty, scrunched ball left purposefully on the table.

And Jimmy dared to hope.

* * *

The next day was his half-day; normally Thomas would find some excuse to go on an errand or magically his time off would line up with Jimmy’s, and they’d while away the hours together - not so this time. So Jimmy set off for the village straight after breakfast with no more of a plan than to just get a bit of air and distance from the still-awfully-cold Mr Barrow.

He wasted time peering into the window of the tailors, gawping after suits he’d never afford, and the little antique-come-knick-knack shop on the corner. When he exhausted that he strolled along aimlessly, smoking one of his own cigarettes for a change, past the grocery store and up to the steamed-window of the bakers. The smell that drifted out to meet him was divine; sugar and spices and warm bread and god, it reminded him of the first taste he’d had of Thomas’s lips.

An idea struck him and he pushed inside, the bell jangling merrily, to be met with a fully-stocked display case of treats, a veritable cornucopia of baked goods; bread pudding, Chelsea buns, Bakewell tarts, fruit scones, Eccles cakes, Manchester tarts and little rounds of sugared shortbread. His brain unhelpfully provided an image of Thomas with his red mouth stretched around a piece of shortbread and he blushed.

He ended up spending a good portion of his wages - the woman behind the counter looked at him as if he’d gone insane when he ordered two of everything and a dozen pieces of the shortbread, but she dutifully wrapped and bagged up his haul without comment.

When Jimmy deliberately plonked the bag on the servant’s hall table it was Alfred who took the bait.

“Whatcha got there Jimmy?” he said.

Thomas was sitting in the rocking chair pretending to read - he was staring at the paper but his eyes didn’t move to scan the words and he hadn’t turned the page since Jimmy had walked in.

“Just a few _treats_ ,” Jimmy drawled, “felt a bit peckish.” And he started to unwrap a Bakewell tart.

“A few treats? Is that all cakes in there? Are you barmy?” Alfred chortled.

“All cakes,” Jimmy grinned, he threw out “an’ shut up Alfred,” for good measure.

Alfred scowled. “Aren’t ya gonna share?”

Jimmy bit the Bakewell tart in half and said; “Not wiv you,” spraying crumbs of pastry over the table.

Alfred rolled his eyes and got up, bored with Jimmy’s churlish antics, and left for the kitchen. Jimmy’s stomach twisted. It was just him and Thomas now and the other man was resolutely ignoring him.

“Mmmmm,” Jimmy said around his cake, “bloody delicious this is.” And made a show of licking the icing from his lips.

Thomas didn’t speak but his fingers tightened their grip on the paper, creasing the pages.

Jimmy found a scone and attempted to eat it in an alluring manner, only to cough on the dry crumbs and almost choke. Thomas actually had to hide at smirk at that - Jimmy was _winning_.

Next Jimmy opened the little box of shortbread. “Oh!” he said theatrically, “They’ve given me far too much. Whatever shall I do? If only I had someone to share it with!”

Thomas sighed and put down the newspaper. “Jimmy,” he said, which was already an improvement over the cold _‘James’_ he’d been treated to over the last week or so, “pray tell, what the _fuck_ are you doing?”

Jimmy laughed at Thomas’s language and saw the under-butler’s lips twist as he struggled to contain a smile.

“Just sadly eating cakes alone and _miserable_ ,” Jimmy replied, “because I’m an idiot.

“I won’t argue with that,” Thomas snarked, but there was no edge to it. He got out of the rocking chair and came to sit at the table beside Jimmy and his pile of baked goods.

“Saw these and thought of you,” Jimmy said and handed him a Manchester tart.

Thomas huffed a laugh but prised the cake from it’s little foil tin and ate the thing whole. Jimmy’s heart was in his throat in an instant.

“How about some shortbread Mr Barrow?” Jimmy said shakily and held out one of the rounds - Thomas took the biscuit between his lips and fixed Jimmy with a meaningful look.

“Jimmy,” he said between mouthfuls, “I like the _cakes_ and _biscuits_ and _pastries_ , don’t get me wrong. But I - I can’t survive on just that. I need...more.”

Jimmy reached out and touched Thomas’s cheek, “I know.”

* * *

Later, when they were wrapped around each other in Thomas’s bed, half-undressed and both stuffed with the rest of Jimmy’s cakes, Jimmy rolled on top of Thomas and kissed along his jaw, down his neck and ran his lips over the rough hair that peeked up from the open collar of his undershirt.

“Take this off, would ya?” Jimmy said, pulling at the undershirt, keen to get a look the broad expanse of Thomas’s chest.

“I - uh,” Thomas blushed prettily, like he’d rubbed a line of rouge over the bridge of his nose and his cheekbones. “I’ve been eating a lot of treats and I uh,” he looked away, embarrassed.

Could it be that the inscrutable Mr Barrow was _self-conscious_?

“And d’ya think I care?” Jimmy rolled his eyes, “Come on, off with it.”

Thomas looked to be fighting a quickly-lost battle with himself and it wasn’t long before his shirt joined the rest of their clothes in a pile on the floor. Jimmy just _stared_ \- Thomas was as gorgeous as ever, his chest still covered in fine smattering of black hair, his nipples still the same pink as his lips, his stomach now perhaps a tad softer than before, but Jimmy thought he looked all the better for it.

Thomas mistook Jimmy’s staring for disgust and made to pull away, so Jimmy shoved him down roughly onto the mattress and ran his hand though the rough hairs on his chest then lower, following the trail down to Thomas’s stomach.

“God, you’re so,” Jimmy moaned, and leaned down to plant open-mouthed kisses over the soft flesh of Thomas’s tummy. Thomas gave a surprised gasp of pleasure and tanged a hand in Jimmy’s hair - which was all the encouragement the footman needed to rub his cheek against Thomas’s stomach like a cat against a scratching post. The feeling was electrifying - the warm softness of his slight paunch in stark contrast to the roughness of the coarse hair did something indescribable to Jimmy’s insides.

Jimmy made short work of the button on Thomas’s trousers, eased them over his hips and thick thighs and cast them off the end of the bed - now Thomas was naked, except for his glove, and achingly hard. Jimmy said, his chest full of something warm and joyous; “Darlin’, make love to me.”

A grin split Thomas’s face. “I should knock _you_ off the bed this time,” he said, but his eyes were soft, the orange light of the lamp catching in them like twin fires.

Jimmy grinned in kind and threw off the last of his clothes, then pressed their bodies together from top to bottom, revelling in the feeling of so much skin against skin. Thomas kissed him then, deep and full of everything they both should’ve said if they’d been more able to.

Thomas rolled them over, pushing Jimmy into the bed in that way that made his breath hitch and his throat feel thick with longing, and said; “Can I?”

He didn’t embellish - he didn’t have to. Jimmy knew what he was asking for and he was filled with a nervous sort of excitement, like the feeling a second before you dive off into a pool of water. He nodded and honestly, he’d have allowed Thomas to do anything he wanted to him in that moment.

Thomas kissed him, dragging his teeth over Jimmy’s bottom lip, and laid a multitude of grazing kisses down his neck, over his chest and stomach, and all the way down to Jimmy’s inner thigh, until Jimmy thought he might go mad from the feel of it. Thomas nudged his knees further apart and kissed into Jimmy’s cleft - it was utterly _lewd_ and Jimmy almost laughed at the sensation before clenching his jaw tight. He didn’t imagine laughing now would go down very well.

Then Thomas pushed the tip of his tongue into Jimmy and it wasn’t the slightest bit funny anymore. It was a miracle Jimmy didn’t come completely undone in that second. He fisted the sheets, his cock leaving a wet stripe across his own stomach, and he said; “God Thomas, that’s ah,” and was unable to finish the thought as Thomas slipped a finger inside him.

Nothing existed except Jimmy’s throbbing erection and the singular point where Thomas and he were joined. Then bliss, like an explosion of stars, when Thomas curled his finger and found a place inside a Jimmy he didn’t know existed.

“What - Thomas - wait!” Jimmy cried and Thomas stilled instantly.

“Alright love?” he asked brokenly.

“What was that? I want more,” Jimmy said, gasping.

Thomas grinned up at him from between his thighs, and Jimmy felt a stretch as Thomas pushed a second finger inside.

Then pleasure again, until Jimmy was a sweaty, keening mess tangled in the sheets.

“Thomas, _please_ ,” Jimmy begged, “now please. I want _you_.”

Thomas didn’t need asking twice - he removed his fingers and heaved off the bed, then rummaged madly in his nightstand for a moment, before returning with a glass jar of petrol jelly. Jimmy didn’t see what he did with it exactly, but he had an idea and his cock quivered at the thought of what was about to happen.

Thomas lifted Jimmy by the thighs and hefted him closer, his slicked cock sliding down Jimmy’s cleft and then inching into him. Jimmy gasped and tensed - Thomas was entirely too _big_ , there was no way he could fit inside Jimmy’s body.

“Thomas - ah - please,” Jimmy cried and Thomas rubbed soothing circles on his thighs.

“Relax love,” Thomas breathed, “I won’t hurt you, just relax.” And he leaned in for a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss that left Jimmy utterly breathless.

Slowly and oh so tenderly, Thomas eased himself into Jimmy, lazily stroking Jimmy’s cock as he did - after the initial stretch Jimmy was relieved when everything sort of melted into pleasure.

“Alright?” Thomas said, his voice rough, dark hair falling into his eyes, “Alright my love, my darling boy?”

“Alright,” Jimmy replied, and he meant it. This, them, everything; it was all _right_.

Thomas bent forward and kissed Jimmy again, his tongue working some sort or miracle in Jimmy’s mouth. Eventually Thomas moved his hips just a fraction and it was so wonderful - Jimmy was utterly at his mercy.

“Thomas,” he begged, “more, please, I need - I’m goin’ _mad_ ‘ere.”

Thomas gave a full body shudder at his words and had to take a few deep breaths to regain some semblance of composure. He started thrusting with more vigour and stroking Jimmy off again then - then he hit that previously unknown spot inside Jimmy and it was too much almost instantly. Jimmy managed to get out a; “Thomas! Ah!” and he came, his seed spurting a white, hot line against Thomas’s stomach.

Thomas followed very soon after - Jimmy was still riding the wave of his own orgasm when he felt Thomas’s hands grabbing his hips desperately.

“Jimmy, god, yes I - yes - _Jimmy_!” and he came with the footman’s name on his lips.

They lay together, a sweaty, sated and sticky mess, and Jimmy couldn’t figure out where he ended and Thomas began.

Eventually Thomas leaned back and gave Jimmy an absolutely delirious grin.

Jimmy smirked in return and said; “Better than Patmore’s cooking?”

Thomas pretended to consider it for a few seconds. “I’m not sure,” he said with mock solemnness, “I _am_ partial to a chocolate eclair.”


End file.
